


and we aren't adults but we sure aren't kids anymore

by Cleokat



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Formatting Hates Me, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Major Spoilers, Spoilers, Teen Romance, ill try to fix when I'm awake, this actually doesnt match canon at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 10:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12209208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleokat/pseuds/Cleokat
Summary: There's an gray area in which kids learn too much too fast and suddenly they're not young anymore but they realize they're not prepared to be adults just yet. Rantarou Amami finds that he's right smack in the middle.





	and we aren't adults but we sure aren't kids anymore

“Sore wa chigau yo!”

The words rang through the small trial room, and Amami was sure he could see the calm facade of the mastermind shatter. The deliverer of the words was the Ultimate Geologist, who’s eyes burned, fire behind her blue eyes. A shriek escaped the lips of the Ultimate Mailman as they were shouted down by the four survivors in the trial room.

 “No, no, no!” they screamed. They kept wailing until they were swamped by the letters bearing the signature black, white and red of the robotic bear being swallowed up by grinning stamps next to him. Tsumugi Shirogane blinked rapidly as the execution finished in a flurry of paper cuts and blood, her mouth forming sounds that wouldn’t ever be heard. The peace-loving Cosmetologist gripped the stands until his knuckles turned white, staring down at their pink-toed sneakers with their face shadowed. It was quiet then, the trial room silent. The photos of their dead classmate on poles seemed to smile in a pleased manner, and Amami felt a cold shiver run through his spine.

“What… no… this is feels wrong…” He muttered this all under his breath, but it was enough for Shirogane to turn her worried gaze to him. “I have a bad feeling…” Tsumugi’s voice quivered when she tried to speak. 

“Let’s go look outside, I-I suppose.” Her voice, though naturally soft, seemed even higher. The elevator ride was quiet and miserable, and the only noise was the Ultimate Geologist fidgeting with the colorful crystals dangling from her necklace, the sparkling stones clinking lightly against the others. Amami found his eyes drawn to a deep pink one, the color of blood that had frequently decorated the academy’s halls. It was a welcome distraction from what felt like their impending doom.

With a happy little ding, the elevator slid open, and they fell back with horror in their expression. There, right in front of them, stood about four people in professional black suits. Smiles, some kind, some mocking plastered on their face. Amami’s eyes widened as the faint whirring of helicopter blades reached his ears, and he looked up to see a glass panel in the dome high, high above them removed. The airborne vehicles hovered above, a glaring cherry red against the blue sky.

Tsumugi threw him a worried look, but he waved her away and turned his attention to the suspicious-looking newcomers.

“Thank you! You all have been great entertainment,” they were saying. “Congratulations!” The cosmetologist’s brow furrowed in complete and utter confusion, and he pushed his fingers together. 

“Congratulations?” he repeated. “Why… why?”

“You’ve just survived the 52nd killing game of Danganronpa!” They spread their arms wide in the illusion of a warm hug, but the reactions were less than excited. Amami’s throat seized, and behind him the geologist could only stutter “g-game?” before she swooned and hit the ground. While the cosmetologist knelt to attempt to wake the girl with shaky hands, Amami leveled his cool gaze with the person at the head of the small formation.

“What do you mean?” A girl with silver hair huffed, tossing her braids and looking at him scornfully, red eyes flashing.

“Don’t be foolish. You should have put it together by now, shouldn’t you?” Another by her side sighed.

“Just tell them.” The girl exhaled, a bored expression flitting across her features.

“Fine. This was nothing but a televised murder game in which you were actors… no, more reality TV stars brainwashed and having your memories stolen.” That was probably the worst way she could have phrased it, because a heavy tension settled over the group, only broken by an eardrum-shattering scream from Tsumugi before she fell to her knees, grasping her face with her hands. Amami wished he could cry.

He was numb, though. Much too numb.

* * *

The hospital that Team Danganronpa was boring. White walls, gray tiled floors… Amami wondered how something so bland could remind him of the colorful halls of the Gifted Inmate’s Academy. He often pondered this as they walked. Every now and then, Amami went to the other rooms, knocking on the others’ doors and inviting them on walks around the grounds. They always came along. 

Perhaps it was boring at the hospital. Perhaps they were desperate for human conversation just as he was. Whatever it was, two hours four times a week was cut out of their schedules for time to walk and talk and lose themselves under the illusion that it was only the four of them with no killing game on their shoulders and everything was okay, okay, okay and they weren’t emotionally damaged-

They talked about what they were trying to remember, the number of memories growing larger every day. They discussed their pasts, their dreams, their wishes, but they also avoided things like the game, or the fact that they simply aren’t talented in the slightest like they were in the game.

Amami stayed quiet because he still remembered nothing, but he heard about the cosmetologist’s skill at swimming and his races with his dad, or the fact that the geologist used to be able to recite the entire periodic table in under thirty seconds if she really, really needed to. Tsumugi didn’t talk much either, but Amami presumed it was because she’s shy. He’s right. Every now and then she piped in with a little tidbit about her small dog named Yuki, or the fact that she used to be able to make marvelous pastries and Amami wished he could remember something about himself just to join the conversation. His head swam every time he tried to reach for a memory, though.

At least it was almost therapeutic, the repetitive route. Cut through the dining hall for a quick breakfast before going o the fairly sunny grounds. Sometimes, employees attempted to talk to them, but they were shunned. For a while, it was tolerable, and almost fun. Good never lasts, though. Especially not if you’re under the hand of Team Danganronpa.

They were promised that they would be able to go soon, and they waited in excited anticipation for the “ok” that never came. Maybe they got tired of waiting. Maybe they got tired of walking. Whatever it was, the conversations between them became stale and awkward. From there, it was inevitable that the cosmetologist stopped coming. One day Amami stopped by his door but was greeted with a shake of a head and a “Please Do Not Disturb” sign slapped on the door handle.

He had questioned it at first, but eventually he dropped the subject. Surely he’d be fine. There wasn’t much he could do anyways. When he was gone it became glaringly obvious how much closer the geologist was to the cosmetologist though. Suddenly, the brown-haired girl became a lot more reserved until finally she stopped coming. He could work with that, he assured himself, she was going to be fine. They still met once in a while anyways, in therapy groups that were evidently for the sake of positive publicity.

Now it was only the two of them, Rantarou Amami and Tsumugi Shirogane. They found comfort in each other, in an odd way. Perhaps it was the fact that they were just two kids with odd-colored hair, but when she laced her soft hand through his and swung their arms back and forth between them, he thought maybe… maybe it would be alright.

* * *

Alright seemed a little bit like a stretch, Amami amended to himself as he lay in his bed, staring at the tiled ceiling. It was almost eerily silent. He was reaching sleep finally, though, when the sound of a faint sobbing was heard through the wall. Tsumugi’s room. Quickly he sat up and slipped out of his room and into the hallway, feeling positive that she would have heard the click of the doorknob as he slipped into the hallway. His suspicions were correct.

“Amami?” Her voice was faint, but the walls were thin. “The… the… the door is unlocked.” It was, and he hurriedly opened the door to see Tsumugi wrapped in her think blanket, curled into a ball with tears running down her face. Red lines also decorated her cheeks, as if she had been dragging her jagged fingernails across her smooth, pale skin. His breath caught in his throat as he walked over to her, worry must have been evident on his face. He barely recognized that he probably looked like a mess, light green hair tangled and dark bags under his eyes practically an accessory now, but it didn’t matter as he gently drew her into his lap.

She relaxed just a little bit at his touch. Salty tears dampened the front of his shirt, and she scrunched her fingers into the papery fabric of the hospital-lent pajamas. He couldn’t say much more than, “It’ll be fine,” he repeated, “It’ll be fine.” He wasn’t sure if she understood him, because he sure didn’t understand himself. Fine seemed so out of reach, so unattainable, he almost felt bad, like he was lying to her by saying this. Whatever the case, the words seemed to help. 

“Do you remember the florist?” Her words are interrupted by sobs, but Amami understands her. She doesn’t mention the name, but he remembers the mad smile painted onto the short boy’s face as he was plucked to pieces like petals from a daisy, except to the mocking jeers of Monokuma instead of the love-filled remarks of a young girl.

He hadn’t really talked to him much, but he was aware that he and Tsumugi and been close. Nodding, he ran his fingers through her soft tangle of blue hair.

“I remember… his execution,” she whimpered, hugging her knees like a lifeline, “He didn’t even say goodbye.” She burst into another fit of tears. Amami hugged her close then and sat there in silence. The only sound in the room was her sobs until they slowed… and slowed… and slowed… until it was replaced by the soft snuffling as she fell into a light sleep.

Amami smiled, and tried to get up, but soon realized her face scrunched up as he moved, threating to wake.

“Mmm…” Realization struck him and he understood that if he moved she would probably wake up. A small laugh escaped his lips, a sound that he hadn’t heard in a while. The bed was big enough… he sighed, but in a good way, and gently laid himself down without disturbing her to be claimed by the arms of sleep.

* * *

Amami hated to receive bad news. Didn’t everyone? He also hated to deliver bad news, but he refused to hide the truth more. Tsumugi deserved to know, so he had to be the one to tell her that the Ultimate Cosmetologist had gone insane. Plain and simple. He hadn’t been the first to learn that fact though, no, that honor went to the geologist, considering her and the cosmetologist’s close bond. Amami learned soon after, and had joined the brunette who was weeping by his bedside.

It was terrible, both the scene and him. The once carefully organized stacks of palettes were now thrown to the ground in a bed of glittering powder, and his wrists were chained to the iron rods on the side by his bed. He foamed at the mouth under screams of murder and masterminds and monochrome robot bears, and Amami’s heartstrings twisted at the sight. The cosmetologist had always been rallying for peace, right up until the end of the killing game.

Pity weighed heavy on his mind as he looked at the geologist, who had been extremely close with him in the past few weeks. She looked weak, tired, and hurt. He almost reached out, but one murderous glance from the girl caused him to fall back and exist the room. Outside, fate had him meet the one person he was looking for. Tsumugi Shirogane stood there, a little flustered.

“There you are!” Her blue hair was drawn into a messy ponytail that bobbed as she spoke. “I was looking for you! See, I brought breakfast. Anyways… I thought I heard screaming. Is everything alright?” Amami inhaled sharply.

“He’s not.” He pointed at the door with a dark expression.

“Sick? Or…” She trailed off and her eyes flashed with regret, understanding, and a bunch of other emotions he couldn’t place. Swiftly, she pressed the apple and granola bars into his hands before darting away. He watched her go with a sad expression, vowing to go find her later. For now, he might as well bring the inhabitants of the room breakfast.

* * *

Amami expected Tsumugi to be in many places when he went looking for her. He didn’t expect her to be in the patient’s room, plastered against the wall with a face of sheer horror. The geologist was nowhere to be found.

“No!” the cosmetologist wailed, trying vehemently to free themselves from the restraints.

“No,” Tsumugi echoed, “No, no… not like this…” Amami took this as a sign to gently take her by the forearm and lead her slowly from the room. She went willingly, but her gaze didn’t leave the bed until they were out in the hall. Her vocabulary seemed to have reduced to one word out there.

“Horrible… horrible, horrible, horrible-“ She stared at Amami with sad, sad eyes. “Don’t you get it?”

“Get what?”

“Don’t you get it?! We’re going to be forced to become one of them or lose our minds trying to fight back!” Amami couldn’t tell her she was wrong, and now they were just two people who weren’t ready to be adults but they sure as hell weren’t kids anymore, standing in the hallway listening to screams that were caused by a place that represented so many things that destroyed them.

* * *

She came to his room at the time he was going to leave it. Her expression was twisted between a sneer and a sob, and she was holding a letter lightly between her two fingers. Her features look dark in this light, and Amami has an overwhelming urge to fix her, bring the Shirogane of the past back, though he knew it would be impossible by now.

Tsumugi had been changing, turning darker, more twisted, less hope-filled and showing much less emotion. The changes might have been reflected in him as well. After all, things had only gotten worse after the cosmetologist and subsequently the geologist had both been removed from the facility to who knows where. Now it was just the two of them, facing the world.

They eyed each other now, blue fixated on green, green fixated on blue.

“I came to bring you this. Do you mind if I sit down?” She cut her words off sharply, more business-like. Amami was tempted to say no, but she entered anyways and dropped herself into a plush red chair. He scowls, but sat in a black and white chair opposite.

She handed the letter to him, but he stared at it like it contained a bomb. He wouldn’t be surprised if it did. Shirogane must have read his expression, though, because she sighed and pulled out a torn envelope from the folds of her skirt.

“It’s safe, you know. I got one too.”

“What does it say?” She breathed out, a long, frustrated breath.

“Look, it’s just a letter that has some of your memories, and asking you to consider your position on where you stand with Danganronpa. You have two options now, join the next killing game and get a little promotion, or stay under their care for a long while, alone.” His nose wrinkled at the choices, then a regret-filled smile crossed his lips.

“Something tells me you’ve made your decision already…” She stroked the mock red velvet of the chair and sighed happily.

“I have, I have.”

“Something also tells me that you didn’t choose to stay here.” Her gaze was dull through lowered lids, and she looked unimpressed.

“Amami, I’m not stupid. I got plenty of perks, and do you think I’d like to lose my sanity bit by bit in this… hellhole?” Her fingers worried the corner of the black envelope until it tore.

“You sound like a spokesperson,” he remarked dryly. She shrugged and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“I do what I have to do. Remember what I told you? We’re either going to become part of them, or lose our minds trying to fight back. I chose the route of life, Amami.” Before he could say anything, she leaned forward even further and kissed him lightly. Her perfume smelled of vanilla that day, and that was all that could register before she simultaneously pulled back and stood up.

“Think it over, _Rantarou_.”

Then she left him there, sitting on the chair with the dark envelope in his hands.

It didn’t take him long to decide.

* * *

The library was empty, but Amami looked at the bookcase with no books on top with a curious expression. A sinking, gut feeling told him that something important lied there, and he was about to go investigate.

All of a sudden a flash went off, and his head turned sharply to the light, stretching his hand out as a reflex.

_Clang_. He’d moved, but only the slightest bit as the round metal sphere of a shot put hit the floor where he had previously been standing. That wouldn’t have been good at all. He was about to continue his investigation when all of a sudden, the bookcase creaked and the oddly familiar scent of vanilla reached his nose. He couldn’t move, paranoia overtook him.

“You chose fighting back then?” The high voice of Tsumugi Shirogane rang in his ears. _She was the mastermind-_ “I’m disappointed in you, Amami. I thought so much better of you…” _She knew him, he knew her-_ “But here you are, rallying them to defeat the thing I worked so hard on… well, it looks like you made the wrong choice.”

 

_No, he remembered, he knew, he had to tell everyone-_

****

**_Crunch._ **

****

 

**Author's Note:**

> This totally disproves my other fanfic I wrote for Tsumugi's birthday, but it's at this point where I scream "heck it all" and toss this fanfiction into the wild...
> 
> I'm still weak for this concept though-


End file.
